Rough
by SourCherryJuice
Summary: They had been together for months, but England was as rough around the edges as ever. Not that France really minded, of course. It was just part of his charm. FrUK, AU, human names used, T rating for a bit of naughtiness throughout


Francis gave a pleasured sigh, idly running his hands down the soft, bare skin of Arthur's back.

The other was currently seated in his lap, those warm, soft lips leaving trails of heat along Francis's collar bone. For being such a stodgy, conservative old man, Arthur still had a bit of a wild side, though it only seemed to come out when they were alone, and only when he was feeling exceedingly desperate.

Francis supposed a week-long business trip keeping them apart was reason enough for that streak to show.

"So is that a yes or a no?"

It took all the willpower Francis had left to force out a soft, "Hmm?"

That earned a sharp slap upside the head and an eye roll before Arthur impatiently demanded, "Are going to fuck me or not?"

There was a soft smile before Francis finally said, "In due time."

Arthur simply rolled his eyes again, though he didn't pull away.

"We'll get to it later, I promise." Francis shivered when those lips returned to his neck once more, warm and soft and far too tempting, and he found himself unable to stop himself from murmuring, "Your lips are soft..." Another, far more violent shiver raised gooseflesh over his skin when Arthur's teeth clamped down on his neck.

"That's not a compliment," was all Arthur had to say for himself, grinding his hips down against the other's, heat and friction building between them despite layers of clothing preventing the skin-on-skin he so desired. There was a soft gasp, though, when he felt Francis's hands on his hips, warm and strong, preventing him from moving any further. "Let me go."

"Non." That said, Francis allowed his hands to slip a bit, coming to rest on Arthur's thighs, hauling him up so that they were chest to chest. Those hands snaked up the Englishman's waist again after that, looping around him and holding him close. "Just let me hold you."

Something in the warmth, in the softness and utter gentleness of that tone, lit Arthurs face with heat, and he dutifully hid it away against Francis's neck, clinging and breathing in the all too familiar scent of roses that always seemed to linger on the other's skin. Though he would never admit it, this was nice, Arthur thought, just being close like this. That is, until Francis decided to be an ass and kill the mood.

"Je t'aime."

A smack to the chin later, Arthur curled closer into Francis's chest, his hands resting against his shoulder blades, holding tight while he griped. "You and your damn French..." When no reply came, Arthur smirked. Francis was pouting, it seemed. How like him.

And Arthur was still a bit rough around the edges, it seemed, even with all the time that he and Francis had spent together during their years as a couple.

But after a few tense moments, Arthur gave in. Of course. He always did. "Don't be stupid," he murmured, his voice soft, his face still hidden against Francis's hair. "You know I have a bit of an affinity for you..."

A somewhat sly smile on his face, Francis simply replied, "You have a funny way of showing it."

"I most certainly do not!" That had apparently offended him. Odd.

"Oh, you most certainly do!" was Francis's chuckled response, pulling back enough that he could look his English lover in the eye. "You're always scratching and biting and marking me up! And, despite how cat-like your eyes are, you're a human being, not a cat."

"I know that," Arthur said, something stirring behind his eyes, some strange mixture of irritation and offense and arousal. "But I don't think you understand why I do it."

"Then explain it," Francis said, his hands slipping down to the other's hips once more.

"I mark you up because I want everyone else to know that you belong to me."

"Oh, so now I belong to you?" Francis gave out another warm chuckle at that. "I'm a pet now? Would you like to put a collar on me?"

Francis shivered when he felt Arthur's fingers nimbly trace around his throat.

"I'd very much like to put a collar on you," Arthur replied, his eyes dark. "But I imagine you're far too vanilla for that."

"And you're far too possessive," was Francis's snappy retort. "You know what that means, don't you?"

Arthur gave a dismissive shrug. "It means that I love you," he said. "So what?"

There was no answer that Francis could think of, instead leaning in to steal a soft kiss.

So what if Arthur was a bit rough around the edges? He could be sweet when he needed to be, and Francis wouldn't change him for all the world. 


End file.
